At 29, in reconnecting, even though by all rights it should be dulled by 10 years of life eroding everyone's edge, that stuff doesn't really go away! Deep-seated, because it was never about them anyway. Hell, they're totally nice, too. They do nothing to enforce the imaginary line in my mind between me (too smart in school, to hedonistically inexperienced) and them (getting high-paid jobs withough graduating high school, renting ski chalets).

Back to my faceplant. When I woke up (twice - after the first wake-up, overzealous bouncer walked me over and sat me on a stool, my next memory is waking up again on the floor near the door,) both times, there's Ad@m hovering over me, holding my hand and talking me through it while I act like a loon in semi-dreamworld glee to see him there, like a Victorian bedside scene.

I had the rescue fantasy!! - the dream sequence where the cutest boy in your class rescues you from the burning junior high! Except you don't take into account things like showcasing the whites of your eyes or mumbling weird things or lying in slush like an embarassing piece of shit.